


Need

by ancient_moonshine



Series: Moonlight in His Hands [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Basically, Eärendil is very into it, M/M, Maeglin is clingy and possessive., Mutually obsessive relationship, Reverse Replacement Goldfish, Uncle-Nephew incest, Where the replacement replaces the goldfish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-13 17:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21001205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancient_moonshine/pseuds/ancient_moonshine
Summary: Eärendil and Maeglin, then and now.Maeglin is alone at his workdesk when Eärendil creeps up behind him, places his hands on his eyes. Maeglin stiffens, then relaxes, and Eärendil grins.“You’re back.” He says. Maeglin lifts his hands away but does not turn to face him. He never gives Eärendil what he wants, right away.“Eärendil. Go away, I’m working.” Maeglin still isn’t looking up, but Eärendil can see the beginnings of a small, pleased smile curling up his lips. Whether he ever admits it out loud or not, Maeglin is always as happy to see him as he is to be here.





	Need

He’s in the workshop when he feels small hands clap over his eyes, then a giggle. Maeglin bites back a sigh, peels the hands off and looks up from the plans he’s drafting to a bright, small face beaming at him. His lips twitch up in mingled annoyance and if he were to admit it to himself, some small affection.

“Eärendil.” He says. He releases the boy, then bends down over his work again. “You shouldn’t be here. Go back to your mother.” Eärendil is undeterred, the way beloved children are when confronted by an adult who cared not about their presence. His _f__ëa _shimmers – a unusually vivid brightness that makes Maeglin’s eyes ache when he looks for too long.

“Mother said you were back.” Eärendil says, heading for the front of Maeglin’s worktable. Maeglin stops himself from sighing as Eärendil’s bright head blocks his view of the paper. “What’s this? And why is it always so dark here?”

“_This _is equipment meant for the mines.” Maeglin says. “You wouldn’t be interested. And I don’t like bright light.” Eärendil shuffles to stand beside him. Maeglin grabs his wrist, stopping him from sticking his thumb into his mouth.

“Didn’t I tell you not to put your fingers in your mouth when you’re here? Do you want to be poisoned?” He doesn’t need to give Idril reason to further mistrust him.

“But I didn’t touch anything!” Eärendil protests. Maeglin tightens his grip pointedly before releasing the boy.

“If you do that again, I’ll tell my guards not to let you in. Whether the King wills it or not.” It had been Turgon’s fault that the boy was always at his heels now, anyway. If Idril or her mortal husband had anything to say about it, Maeglin knows they would have kept their son well away from him. Unfortunately for all of them, it had been the King’s will to let his beloved grandchild bother his nephew in an attempt to mend the breach between him and his daughter.

But Eärendil is beloved, and confident in the love of everyone around him. “You won’t disobey him, he’s the _King._” He says, sidling up against Maeglin. Maeglin exhales as his elbow smudges a line he’d made with graphite. Then he has an idea.

“I have something for you.” He stands up, reaches for a knapsack he uses for travelling, rooting around until he finds what he’s looking for. A small, delicately carved ship sealed in a blown-glass bottle, gifted to him by a miner that used to be a sailor along the shores of Aman. He hadn’t had the least idea what to do with it, but he had accepted it anyways, and the miner had given him a broken grin. “After the Helcaraxë, I lost my love for deep water. May it give you sweeter memories than it does me.” What it really reminds Maeglin of is his mother’s own stories about crossing the Grinding Ice, but of course he doesn’t mention that.

“What is it?” The boy’s eyes go wide as his small hands reach for it. “It’s so pretty!” But Maeglin holds it away from him with admittedly a dash of petty satisfaction as the boy’s blue eyes cloud over in disappointment.

It would do the boy good to not get everything he wants, after all.

(The boy resembles Idril and her mortal husband both in equal measure. Maeglin has to stifle the resentment, the jealousy, the longing always curdling in his heart.)

“It’s a boat. Surely your father told you what they are?” Eärendil nods. His eyes are very big and very blue, unwavering on the bottle. “This one is small because it’s just a toy. I got it for you, but before I give it, you have to promise me something.” The boy listens in rapt attention. Maeglin suddenly remembers another time. When he was called Lomion or _Boy. _The hand holding the bottle wavers, just for a moment.

“You’re not allowed to make any noise. You’re not allowed to touch anything. You’re _definitely _not allowed to eat anything. If you want to stay with me and watch me work, you need to do as I say and be _quiet.” _A memory of his father saying the same words resurfaces in him. He pushes it aside. The past belongs to the past.

Eärendil nods eagerly. Maeglin finally places the bottle in his hands.

“Good.” He returns to his desk, erasing the smudges left on the paper and darkening the lines. Eärendil turns over the bottle. 

“Have you ever seen a real boat? _Ada _told me they’re really big.” Maeglin doesn’t bother looking up.

“What did I say about speaking?” Eärendil pouts. The quiet lasts for all of half a minute.

“How did it get into the bottle?” Concentration was a lost cause. Maeglin exhales and sets his pencil down with deliberate slowness before turning to Eärendil. He’s about to tell the child to leave, King Turgon’ orders or not, but Eärendil’s looking at him with a hopeful, eager gaze, and Maeglin falters.

No one’s ever looked at him like that here, in Gondolin. After a moment, he takes the bottle, points at it.

“He built it inside of the bottle bit by bit. Look.” Eärendil listens to him with rapt attention, then asks to learn more about boats, then about the sea. Maeglin gives his worktable a longing glance before heading off with the child towards the library. Eärendil puts his hand in his, and Maeglin instinctively tightens his grip around it. A little bemused when the boy starts to swing their hands together, but he doesn’t pull away.

Idril finds them in Maeglin’s personal library. The boy jumps up to see his mother, running up and hugging her around the waist. Maeglin as always stifles the raw _want _he feels curling in his chest like a starving dragon, scrabbling at the bars of his ribcage. Idril smiles to see her son, but her gaze is as full of wary distrust as ever.

“I apologize for the bother. If he is disturbing you too much, I will speak to my father and tell him so.” She shushes Eärendil when he complains. Maeglin almost tells her that would be an ideal arrangement, but the look – equal parts hopeful and fretful - on Eärendil’s face stops him.

He suddenly remembers his mother, her hands on his shoulders. That similar look of hope on his face fading to sullen disappointment as his father refused to acknowledge him. And it’s a ridiculous thought because Eärendil isn’t like him in anyway, loved equally by both his parents. He will never be kept from the light of day by his father’s decree, he will never have to walk and always remember to keep his silence. He will always have his name, and his mother’s love, even if he loses all else.

“It’s no matter.” He finds himself saying. “Eärendil can come and go as he pleases.” Idril looks as surprised as he feels at hearing his words. She opens her mouth to speak, but Eärendil’s already bounded away from her to hug Maeglin tight, around the middle. Maeglin holds his arms stiffly, slightly alarmed. Eärendil grins up at him. His face is very bright. His hair is like a crown of light, so like Idril’s.

“I knew you liked me!” He hugs Maeglin tighter. “I promise I’ll be more quiet next time.” Idril manages to collect herself. She looks rather like she’s about to laugh, but thinks better of it.

“Well, then. I suppose that settles matters. If your Uncle Maeglin doesn’t mind you being here, you’d better not make a nuisance of yourself all the same.” Eärendil releases him, running to his mother’s side.

“Thank you.” Idril says. There’s a strange look in her eyes, but it’s gone before Maeglin can hope it’s something else, anything else than what he’s used to. “We’ll be going. It’s almost time for Eärendil to sleep.” The boy protests but then yawns. Idril keeps her arm around him as they leave. Eärendil waves at him, yawning again, and Idril picks him up. Maeglin sees him put his head on her shoulder before the guards close the door behind her.

Maeglin returns to his workshop. It suddenly feels too quiet. Maeglin ignores it and resumes sketching. 

\---

Maeglin’s guards let Eärendil into his workshop without question. It’s been years since the day his grandfather had brought him here, and he had been properly introduced to his soft-spoken, reserved uncle for the first time outside of court. As always, his eyes have to adjust from bright sunshine to the gloom. A childhood spent in the darkness of Nan Elmoth had left Maeglin’s eyes sensitive to light.

In his mind, he can hear his mother’s voice, heavy with disapproval at how much time he’s been spending here. He pushes it aside, heads in.

Maeglin is alone at his desk, writing something and frowning in concentration. Eärendil creeps up behind him, places his hands on his eyes. Maeglin stiffens, then relaxes, and Eärendil grins.

“You’re back.” He says. Maeglin lifts his hands away but does not turn to face him. He never gives Eärendil what he wants, right away.

“Eärendil. Go away, I’m working.” Eärendil grins, shameless, lets his hands rest on Maeglin’s shoulders, giving them a squeeze. Maeglin still isn’t looking up, but Eärendil can see the beginnings of a small, pleased smile curling up his lips, widening when Eärendil reaches for his_ f__ëa_ with his.

A memory bubbles up in Eärendil – his first trip to Sirion, the first time he’d passed beyond Gondolin’s walls. Nightfall at the beach, and Eärendil could not stop gazing at the stars. Not even back home were they this bright. His father had looked up from speaking with an old human fisherman, smiling at him and daring him to wade into the dark waves. Eärendil had followed, not without trepidation, and he’d gasped, eyes wide in wonder as sparks of blue light rippled from his footsteps, like little pieces of the firmament glittering in the depths.

He’d remembered Maeglin, then. Childhood afternoons spent watching the brightest thing glowing in the dim workshop. Whether he ever admits it out loud or not, Maeglin is always as happy to see him as he is to be here.

Eärendil lets his _f__ëa_ rest against Maeglin’s as reaches up, his thumb skating the curve of Maeglin’s ear, down to the lobe. Kissing the curve of Maeglin’s ear gently before flopping down on the seat beside him. He leans his elbows on Maeglin’s workdesk, taking care not to smudge the parchment Maeglin is drafting a letter on. Maeglin still resolutely does not look up - the well-worn routine of a familiar game- but Eärendil can feel him press closer against him, their shoulders brushing.

There’s a small, quiet smile on his lips. Eärendil still feels a flush of both pride and pleasure at how he’s the only one who gets to see this smile regularly.

(Not even his mother has ever seen this. Eärendil is neither blind nor deaf, he knows full well about the rumors being whispered at court. The whispers that fall silent at Maeglin’s presence but start up again just as quick behind his back. But the fact remains that the only person Maeglin allows to see this smile, this self in the shadowed quiet of his workshop is Eärendil.)

“Were you able to find the new vein of ore you were looking for?” Maeglin glances up at that. Eärendil can barely make out the words on the parchment he’s writing on, but his uncle has never had any trouble seeing things in the dark, and the opposite in too-bright daylight. 

“We did. I just need the King’s seal on this letter, and the House of the Mole can set up mining operations.”

“Will I be able to help you with those?” Eärendil asks. Maeglin pauses at that.

“Soon, but not yet. No doubt the King is pleased at how well we get along –“ His tone is dry. Like him, Eärendil knows full well how pleased his grandfather would be once he found out the truth. “-But Idril will see it as my move against her and Tuor.” Eärendil isn’t childish enough to make a face, though he wants to. The shifting landscape of alliances that was Gondolin’s court makes him weary, though both Maeglin and his parents seem to navigate it so easily.

“If only things were as simple as when I was a child.” Eärendil says quietly. “When I came here just because I wanted to spend time with you.” Maeglin’s hand falls still, fingers gripping his pen. He finally looks up, and as always the breath goes tight in Eärendil’s chest when he sees how very dark Maeglin’s eyes are. The pupils swallowing the deep grey up. Like his uncle was a being hollow with want, and Eärendil could see all the way through him. Like he was _allowing _Eärendil to see all the way through him. 

(Growing up, Eärendil had often seen that look directed at his mother when she had already turned away. And so the first time Eärendil had seen that look on Maeglin’s face directed at him instead of at her, he hadn’t been able to stop himself from wrapping Maeglin in his arms and covering his mouth with his.)

“It is what it is.” Maeglin says. He looks away, and Eärendil can breathe again. Maeglin’s _f__ëa_ shifts against his, a gentle caress. Like wind against white sails in a calm wind, or the beat of gull’s wings stirring the air. Maeglin finishes the paragraph he’s writing, signs at the bottom of the page. “For the moment, I would suggest that you content yourself with your lordship of the House of the Gull.” He says this after a short pause.

“A house of mariners and soldiers. It’s not something I expected the King to allow. Even with Tuor there.” Indeed, Eärendil doubts the possibility would have even crossed his grandfather’s mind if it hadn’t been for House Duilin’s uprising two decades back. The risk of further revolt was what had led him to open Gondolin’s gates for a chosen, trusted few, to calm and assuage the more restive members of Gondolin’s populace, but Eärendil knows by the mutterings of discontent relayed to him by his own men that it’s not enough.

(Neither is it for him, if he were to admit it out loud. The first time Eärendil had been outside Gondolin’s gates was the first time he’d realized how _stifled _he’d felt within them, without even realizing or being able to give voice to the discontent in him. And the first time he’d seen the sea, he’d been struck silent, dazzled by the golden light of the sunset burning behind the deep-blue waves.

None of the descriptions from his parents’ stories or the books in Maeglin’s library could ever compare to how small he’d felt then. And though Ulmo hadn’t appeared to him then like he had to his father, Eärendil could sense his presence everywhere, watching him. Almost like he was welcoming him home.

His father had been watching him, though he hadn’t said anything. No words needed to be said.)

“Grandfather still refuses to send soldiers out to aid Gil-Galad, but I’ve been trying to talk him into establishing trade relations with Sirion.” Eärendil says with a little shake of his head to clear it. He sighs in frustration and muted longing. “Truth be told, we’ll need them more than they need us, and their resentment that we’ve been safe behind our walls while Morgoth has ravaged the better part of Beleriand might make negotiations difficult. But we have no choice, our people cannot be shut up forever behind Gondolin’s gates.”

Maeglin is quiet. The way he always does when Eärendil talks about his new House, or the sea. He sets his pen down, letting the words dry on the parchment. His hands are steady but his lips have tightened at the corners.

“You must be careful.” He says at last. “The Enemy is forever searching for this city. If his spies find out who you are when you’re abroad…” He trails off, the corners of his lips tightening. Bad memories flickering behind his dark eyes. Eärendil knows what he’s remembering – the horror of the Nirnaeth Arnoediad. And before that, a spear, a fall. His chest tightens and he reaches up, fingers gentle on the curve of Maeglin’s ear.

The first time he’d done this, it had been an almost absent-minded gesture. Something he almost always sees between his parents when they sit down and speak together, his mother’s fingers dancing through his father’s hair, her touch light against the rounded curve of his ears. His father’s reaction would always be to smile, catching his mother’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Maeglin’s reaction then, as it was now, is for his eyelashes to flicker. His breathing going slightly uneven, pale pink staining his cheeks, his throat, even his ears, warm against the pad of Eärendil’s thumb.

“I promise I’ll take care.” Eärendil says, his voice soft. “And.” He cracks a grin. “What will you do without me here to bother you? You’ll be bored to death.” Maeglin doesn’t answer with words. He reaches up, cupping the back of Eärendil’s head and pulling him forwards into a kiss.

The kiss is forceful, hungry and full of desperate need the way Maeglin’s kisses always are. Eärendil responds with the same hunger, tempered by the tenderness he knows Maeglin craves. Kissing not just Maeglin’s lips, but also his eyes and his cheeks, his brow, everywhere he can reach. Maeglin’s hands are tight in his hair. His _f__ëa _suddenly burning against Eärendil’s like metal heated to glowing white and Eärendil has to remind himself not to curl around it, around _him _and let his and Maeglin’s _f__ëar _mingle together, become one-.

(The need for secrecy is heavy around his throat like an anchor and chain keeping him still and imprisoned with its weight, but Eärendil is no longer a child cossetted from the poison in Gondolin’s court. And what Eärendil cannot, will not risk what can cost them each other.)

He doesn’t know which of them stands first, pulling the other up, only that when they break the kiss, his arms are around Maeglin’s waist. His leans his forehead against Maeglin’s. Without the perspective of a child, it had surprised him how much slighter Maeglin was compared to the others around him. How much taller than him Eärendil is now, that he can tilt his face up and kiss him again. Maeglin responding with a moan, his body flush against Eärendil’s and Eärendil wants more.

(The salty shock of seawater had surprised him, though he had been expecting it. The pull of the waves, the faintest echo of song threaded through the current. His father had laughed at his delight. _That’s the love of Lord Ulmo for you- you can drink and drink and yet your thirst will never be satisfied, and he’ll still have more of it, and you’ll have to take it._

“I know what you mean.” Eärendil had absently let slip. His father’s expression had been quiet.

“I expect you do.” Eärendil had barely, barely stopped himself from reacting, wishing he had Maeglin’s skill in hiding his emotions behind a calm face. His father had looked like he wanted to say more, but decided against it. Neither did Eärendil wish to pursue the conversation, so they let the waves lap around them in silence.)

Maeglin pulls away, just enough to gasp out a word. “Bed,” He says, his smile shining white in the gloom. Catching Eärendil’s fingers in his and Eärendil is vividly reminded of a time in his childhood when he would cling to Maeglin’s hand. And then they’re stumbling towards Maeglin’s bedchambers and Maeglin’s impatiently slipping the robes off of Eärendil’s shoulders while Eärendil does the same for him. Kissing down the curve of Maeglin’s shoulder and throat -_pale like sunlight on seafoam, like light sparking beneath still water -_ biting deeply where the skin would be hidden by the collar of his robes and Maeglin gasps, his underrobe and loincloth falling into a pile at his feet as Eärendil pulls him closer, slides a hand between his thighs. His already half-hard length going fully stiff when he feels the oil between Maeglin’s legs, his erect cock.

“I knew you were coming to see me.” Maeglin breathes against his ear. “I decided to make things easier for you.” Eärendil lets out a breathless laugh as his hand closes over Maeglin.

“And you dared tell me to _go away, _what if I _had-“ _Maeglin yanks Eärendil forwards and the both of them topple onto the bed Eärendil had barely noticed was there. Maeglin’s _grinning. _

“You wouldn’t have. You never could stand not having my attention on you.” And now Eärendil’s kissing the breath out of Maeglin until his mouth is bruised and tender. As reddened and sore as his and those who see it will wonder but with the way Maeglin’s yanking brutally at his hair, hips arching up, rutting against Eärendil’s hand, and Eärendil knows with a rush of gratification that he’s beyond caring.

_Let them wonder. Let them talk. _Eärendil thinks, near-delirious with want. His hands spread Maeglin’s legs apart, laving kisses down his chest, his open thighs, mouthing at his cockhead and tasting the precome dripping there. Maeglin’s breath leaving him in a quiet sigh as Eärendil takes him into his mouth. Licking and sucking, tonguing at the tip and Eärendil can feel Maeglin’s fingers reaching up to comb through his hair.

(Hair that’s exactly like his mother’s.)

He catches Maeglin’s hands, holding him down by his delicate wrists. His _f__ëa _surging against Maeglin’s at the same time he takes Maeglin whole, almost all the way down his throat. Maeglin sucks in a breath, his head falling back against the pillows but he holds Eärendil’s gaze as Eärendil pulls off, then climbs up so that he’s caging Maeglin beneath his body.

Maeglin’s eyes are half-lidded as he watches Eärendil, and Eärendil finds himself skimming his mouth against his lashes, whispering-

“Don’t close your eyes. I want you to look at me.” Another kiss on the mouth, letting Maeglin taste himself, then between his eyes. “Look at me.” Eärendil gasping as he pushes in, easing into that tight heat, Maeglin’s hands tremble just a little as he brushes Eärendil’s hair back, then places his palms on either side of Eärendil’s face. Their_ fëar_ resting almost softly, sweetly against each other.

“I see you.” He breathes. “I see only you.” He arches up against Eärendil again, at the same time Eärendil sheathes himself fully inside of him. Their bodies joined together, their souls just on the cusp of it, instinct letting them set the pace. Neither too fast nor too slow, just enough that they feel everything. Every hitched sigh and murmured endearment, every gasp and kiss. Maeglin biting down on Eärendil’s lip hard enough to draw blood when Eärendil hits that particular spot inside of him, and Eärendil barely feels it. Staring into Maeglin’s widened eyes, never letting him forget who he’s with.

“Eärendil_\- ah_,” Maeglin’s cry is harsh. Eärendil swallows it, tasting blood. His hips stutter against him, warmth spilling onto their bellies and Eärendil’s coming inside of him. He thrusts in once, twice, as deep as he can go. Maeglin’s second cry softening into a gasp against Eärendil’s mouth. His _f__ëa _shuddering then going quiescent, almost calm in Eärendil’s embrace.

They lie together, still joined, breathing hard. Maeglin is trembling. He groans, his spent cock twitching as Eärendil kisses his cheek and pulls out, then gathers him into his arms.

The hollow want in Maeglin’s eyes has not softened at all. He reaches up, tucks a lock of Eärendil’s hair behind his ear. Eärendil grabs his hand and kisses it. Maeglin curves his fingers against Eärendil’s cheek.

“I love you.” Maeglin says, his voice low, fierce, almost angry. Something hot and dark sparking in his eyes as the weight of his _f__ëa_ grows heavy and sharp. Eärendil’s slightly startled at his vehemence, and Maeglin tightens his grip. After a momnt, Eärendil laces their fingers together, pulls his hand down.

“I love you, too.” He says, quietly deliberate. He kisses Maeglin’s fingers until they relax, then kisses him on the mouth, over and over again. Maeglin’s tongue soothing over the cut he left on his bottom lip. Maeglin curving his body around his, tangling their limbs together the way their _f__ëar_ can’t. They’ll both be stiff and sore if they fall asleep like this, but Eärendil sees the quiet desperation in Maeglin’s eyes and holds Maeglin tighter against him in response.

Maeglin sighs, finally relaxing at the gentle trail of Eärendil’s fingers against his spine. Eärendil nuzzles his face against his dark hair, kissing his temple, the curve of his ear. Their_ f__ëar_ twine around each other, and Maeglin swallows, his arms winding tight around Eärendil’s shoulders.

\---

Afternoon slips to night. They make love for the better part of it. Eärendil falls asleep, utterly spent. Maeglin in his arms and his eyes are closed, too. His dark hair damp with sweat, spilled out over his white pillow like ink.

The dawn rouses them, light managing to slip between the thick curtains drawn over Maeglin’s closed windows. Eärendil wakes to Maeglin watching him, his fingers stroking his cheek, and no time to waste. Eärendil pushes himself up with a rueful groan, and Maeglin sits up – a little gingerly, Eärendil notes with some regret, taking care not to rest his whole weight on his backside. The skin of his chest and the base of his throat are reddened with bitemarks, and Eärendil knows he’s little better off. But neither that nor the hot fingers of light creeping across the floor stop the two of them from kissing each other again, Eärendil pinning Maeglin onto the bed and reaching down between them as Maeglin arches up beneath him and sighs against his mouth.

A quick wash with the water from the basin Maeglin had prepared for him, fresh clothes that Eärendil has learned to keep here, and Eärendil needs to leave. He presses a kiss against Maeglin’s temple as he lies curled up on the sheets of his bed.

“I’ll return tonight. Leave your door unlocked.” He grins playfully, curving his hand possessively around the ridge of Maeglin’s hip. “Don’t worry – It’s my turn to feel you inside me.” Maeglin lifts his head so Eärendil’s lips touch his.

“Come back to me.” It’s the barest murmur. Finally, his gaze has softened, the hard edges of it sated by love and trust, and Eärendil smiles, leaning their foreheads together. Savoring the openness Maeglin so rarely shares. His footsteps are quiet as he passes the empty workshop and leaves Maeglin’s wing of the palace. Maeglin’s guards are no longer around, he notes as he hurries down the corridor. Eärendil wonders what they really think about all this. How much they know, how Maeglin’s keeping their silence.

He’s in the garden nearest his own suite when he hears his name being called. “Eärendil,” his mother says. Her braided hair gleams golden under the hot sunshine. She embraces him, and he returns it, tries not to let her feel the tension along his spine, but his mother notices it anyway. She pulls away, a slight frown creasing her smooth forehead, and Eärendil ducks his head.

His father is a small distance away. _I expect you do. _As Idril Celebrindal tucks her son’s hair behind his ear, Eärendil lifts his gaze to hers and wonders how much his parents know. 

“Where were you? Your father and I were looking for you yesterday evening.” His mother slips her arm through his as they make their way down the corridor. Her feet bare on the cold flagstones, but that’s never bothered her.

“We’ve spoken to the King. It took a while to convince him, but he’s now willing to send traders to Sirion. So long as there are good men to protect them.” Eärendil’s heart goes still in his chest.

“When?” He asks. Idril looks at Tuor. A look Eärendil can’t interpret passes between them.

“Within two months.” He says. “We need to be there before summer ends and the seas start getting rough. We’ll be there until the following spring at the earliest, it’s far too dangerous and difficult to travel during winter. It took a long time for him to get around to the idea, but the King had you in mind as the head of this expedition first and foremost.” And Eärendil should be honoured. Should look forward to it – and he is, hot excitement burning in his chest. But-

_Maeglin. _His uncle’s eyes, hollow with longing. The tight expression on his face whenever Eärendil brought up his house, or the possibility of leaving. _Come back to me. _Eärendil’s chest twists.

“I – can’t.” He finds himself saying. Tuor’s expression is startled. Idril stops, goes very, very still, and Eärendil feels his chest ache again. “I’ve promised M- Uncle Maeglin to help him set up the new mine.” Eärendil forces himself to look her in the face as he says it. Idril’s expression is calm but shuttered. The way it gets, Eärendil realizes, when she’s arguing against a point Maeglin was trying to make in court.

“My son,” Idril reaches up. Her palm is gentle on his cheek. Her words are gentle, but her tone is measured. “Please. Just think about it. That’s all we’re asking.” She does not try to argue with him, Eärendil realizes, which is the most telling, damning thing of all.

“Come.” Idril says after a long silence. “Let’s break our fast. We’ll discuss this later.” A pause. “I prefer you not speak about this with my cousin just yet. You two will need to discuss this sudden conflict together before the King.” Eärendil has no answer to that. He follows his parents.

He thinks he feels Maeglin’s eyes on him, but when he looks behind him, the corridor is empty. 

**Author's Note:**

> Midterms hell so I haven't been able to reread Silmarillion, and no time to read Fall of Gondolin. SO chock full of errors, doubtless, and a lot of Gondolin's political issues I based off on what I vaguely remember/what I dug up from the wiki/what I invented for the sake of drama. 
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated. :D


End file.
